


Silent Scream

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [39]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: 4th Wall Breaking, Adult Humor, Adult Language, Angst, F/M, Shitty Puns, also you have a panic attack, featuring things i wish i'd said when i was younger, hi welcome to this beast, i feel like i just gave birth holy shit, mentions of abuse and near death experiences, so heads up for that, this took a week and a half to write, your uncle is back and his coping skills are worse than yours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 13:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18121496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: After nearly dying on some godforesaken Hell's Kitchen dock, you and Piotr head out to your uncle's so you can get some much needed training.(Set after 'Decisions, Decisions.')[All warnings in the tags, but an additional heads up: this is an angsty one.]





	Silent Scream

“You know I have to go—”

“Categorically false. I make a habit of never knowing anything, ever.”

“Yeah, and we can all tell.”

You can’t help but smirk as Wade blows a raspberry at an unfazed Ellie. You’re in the middle of packing your backpack, getting ready to head out to your uncle’s for another round of emergency training.

Because, apparently, the sonic scream you let out at the Hell’s Kitchen dock that subsequently borderline decimated your vocal cords is something you’re supposed to be able to do without the subsequent borderline vocal cord decimation. Who knew.

(Your uncle. Your uncle knew. Which is why you’re going to train with him some more. In case it wasn’t clear.)

At any rate, you’re healed now and need to leave sooner rather than later so that you don’t get into another situation involving subsequent borderline vocal cord decimation. Which has you packing, Wade flopped across the bed you and Piotr share, and Ellie sitting in Piotr’s desk chair, texting and pretending to look otherwise uninvested even though she’s chiming in every other thirty seconds to roast Wade over something he said.

(This is family and you love it.)

You shake your head and try again. “I have to go. The way I hurt my throat when I let out the sonic scream—”

“Coolest unexpected super power ever, by the way. The only thing sonic about me are my farts.”

“Pretty sure they could still be considered chemical warfare,” Ellie mutters.

“The way I hurt my throat wasn’t supposed to happen. Technically. I need to get training on that so I don’t permanently damage my vocal cords.”

“Okay, I’m not even sure that can happen,” Wade says, pointing an imperious finger at you. “I scream all the time, externally and internally. And existentially. And my vocal cords are just fine.”

“It’s called a healing factor, dumbass.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.”

“Language, NTW.”

You smile at your armor-clad partner as he walks into the room the two of you share. “Hey, babe. How’s it going?”

“ _Khorosho_. I wanted to check in on you before you left.”

Ellie stands up, pockets her phone, and drags Wade off the bed. “That’s our cue to leave.”

“What? No! Are you kidding? This is gonna be better than any rom-com produced in the last ten years!”

Ellie keeps moving, undeterred as she drags Wade out of your room and down the hall. “Come on, Douchepool.”

“Ow! Tiny lesbian! How are you so strong?”

Piotr shakes his head, smiling all the same, and bends down to kiss the top of your head. “How are you?”

“I’m doing pretty good.” You smile as his lips press against your head. “I’m almost done packing. I just need to put a few toiletries in my bag –oh, shit. Socks. I need socks, too.”

“I can get your toiletries.”

“Thanks.” You start rifling through your unmentionables drawer while he steps into the bathroom, trying to find enough clean socks to last you at least a week, if not more.

“ _Moya lyubov_ ’…”

You stop your efforts at the sound of his voice –the pitch has shifted, which means he’s out of defense mode –probably to make grabbing things easier—but you’re more concerned about the weight of his voice. “Yeah? Everything alright?”

“I was only thinking,” he says slowly, footsteps indicating that he’s back in the bedroom. “About your leaving.”

“You know I have to go,” you say, poking your head out of the closet while trying to load as many socks in your arms as possible. “It’s not just for everyone else’s safety; it’s for mine, too.”

He nods. “ _Da_. And knowing your uncle’s situation, I am not as opposed to you going.”

You raise an eyebrow. “‘As opposed?’”

He doesn’t look up as he tucks different toiletries into your backpack. “I do not mean to sound controlling. You are adult, can make your own choices, and you do good job of it. I was just wondering… perhaps you should not go alone.”

You frown. “Alone? What, you want to go with me?”

He finally makes eye contact, and the trepidation is plain to see on his face. “Simply put,  _da_.”

“Babe –not that I’m not opposed to having you around— I don’t fly just for the fun of it. I do it to stay under the radar so that I don’t lead the feds back to my uncle. Not to mention that I’d have to carry you, which would make things a lot harder, especially since you’ve never flown long distance that way before. Plus, I fly at night so I can use the stars to navigate, which means sleeping during the day –and not in motels, either. Full on wilderness survival. It’s rough if you’ve never done it.” You purse your lips, then spit out what you’ve been aiming at. “Not to sound mean or anything, but you’d slow me down.”

He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, looking more like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and less like the confident, responsible adult you know him to be. “I… I still have the coordinates from picking you up after our last big fight. We could drive out there. The X-Men use independent satellites, so it would be protected data –and it would be better for you. Safer.”

You quirk your mouth to the side and put your hands on your hips.

It’s not a  _terrible_ idea, objectively speaking. It’s technically riskier than flying out solo, but he does have a point that it’d be safer for you than crashing in the woods during the day without anyone or anything to watch your back.

(Technically, it’s a miracle that you haven’t been devoured by some sort of predator already. Maybe Neena isn’t the only one with lucky powers.) 

“Normally, I would not ask at all,” Piotr says quietly, shoulders hunched as he wrings his hands. “But… it’s so soon… after almost losing you…”

You don’t have to ask him to fill in what he means. You can remember how he looked when you woke up at the hospital –exhausted, anxious, wrecked,  _relieved_. You’ve caught him waking up from nightmares since you came home, ones that always leave him crying and clinging to you. You’ve been the recipient of his hovering and near omnipresence –which, given that you were in a wheelchair and then on crutches, it made sense, but even after you were off both he’d still stayed so close to you.

You hadn’t complained, still aren’t complaining. Aside from enjoying the attention and his company, you know full well that part of how Piotr works out his stress is by ‘mothering.’ If there was ever a situation that warranted it, it was a near-miss with death.

You sigh, and step between his knees so you can slide your arms over his shoulders and kiss the top of his head. You take a moment to hold him, to let him lean against you, then fish the burner phone your uncle had given you out of your backpack.

He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, punk. You headed out soon?”

“Almost. Maybe.” You look down at Piotr and rub his cheek with your thumb while you try to pick the best words for the question you want to ask. “What would you say if I brought Piotr with me?”

Your uncle makes a surprised noise. “What, are you gonna carry him the whole way? That’s fucking nuts, punk.”

“No, we’d drive. He, uh, still has the coordinates to your place from when we were being all passive aggressive with each other after I kinda crashed a car with Wade.”

“Well, ain’t that convenient.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m only asking if you think it’s safe.” You kiss the top of Piotr’s head as he lets his forehead rest against your abdomen. “If you say no, I’ll fly out on my own.”

Your uncle stays silent for a moment. “Do you think he’s tryin’ to keep you on a leash? Is this another control thing?”

You shake your head even though he can’t see it. “No. I… I almost bit it. I think he’s just scared.”

“Sometimes the best way to break a fear is headfirst. Exposure therapy and shit.”

You let out an irritated huff. “Well, maybe  _I_  don’t want to be without him just yet.”

Piotr looks up at you at that, blue eyes lit up with a painful mix of confusion and hope.

Your uncle goes quiet for a beat, two, three, four. Then, he sighs heavily and makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Yeah. Fine. Bring ‘im with. I should probably get a chance to know him outside of watching the two of you fighting, anyway.”

You frown –not displeased, but definitely surprised. “You sure.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. The car will work fine. Call me when you two decide to hit the road –oh, and tell him he should be ready to do chores. Just because he’s not training with me doesn’t mean I’m not gonna put his ass to work.”

You chuckle. “Saw that coming. I’ll let him know.” You swallow hard, then add a “Thanks” because it’s the right thing to say, even though it doesn’t feel like enough.

“Don’t get fucking soft on me, punk. Tell your Mr. Wonderful to get his ass packed so you can get out here and train.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” You make a basic good-bye, then hang up and smile down at Piotr. “Pack a bag.”

“ _V samom dele_?”

“You’re coming with, which means you need clothes and shit. About a week’s worth, maybe two. Oh, we’ll need more snacks, too, so you’re gonna wanna pack some if you don’t to just eat Poptarts and Cheetos the whole way.”

He blinks at you, adorable and confused. “You are serious?”

“No, babe, I’m faking you out to string you along.” You smack his shoulder gently. “Earth to Piotr. You still in there? My uncle said it’d be fine for us to drive out to his place.”

He blinks again –then surges up to wrap you in a hug bigger than he is. “ _Thank you_.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You called him. That is something.”

You hug him back for a minute, then pat his back and let him go. “Well, make sure you thank him too –not that you really need a lecture on manners or anything, but I’m pretty sure the choice to let you come is rankling him a little. He’s kind of an anti-social person. I think having someone other than me around might make his heart stop.”

Piotr chuckles quietly as he sets about finding a decent travel bag and collecting clean clothes. “I will try to be unobtrusive.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage. Oh, he also told me to warn you that he’s gonna put you to work while you’re there.”

_That_  actually makes him snort. “I grew up on farm. I think I can manage whatever he throws my way.”

You laugh back. “Careful what you say.”

 

* * *

 

The two of you head out as soon as you’re both sufficiently packed despite Piotr’s arguments about it being late evening already and keeping to decent sleep cycles.

“Look, part of why I ship out on such short notice is because he keeps… different jobs. He works me in, but shit still happens. The sooner I get there, the better,” you’d argued.

Piotr had narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “What kind of ‘jobs?’ I thought you said he was off all radars.”

“He is. It’s… complicated.”

Fortunately for you, your boyfriend hadn’t called you out on your lame argumentation. He’d just sighed, kissed your forehead, and picked up both of your bags to take them out to the car.

He’d opted to take the first leg of driving, which means you’re on official DJ duty. You flip through Piotr’s CD booklet –because he still actually uses  _CDs_ , bless him—while calling your uncle.

He picks up on the third ring. “Headed my way?”

“Yeah, we’re pulling out right now.”

“Promises, promises.”

You blink, then snort so hard it hurts your head. “ _God_. Never do that again.”

“No guarantees. When should I be expecting you?”

“Well, it’s not a direct a route as flying. Piotr didn’t want to off road through the woods, which means we have to stick to actual roads and highways.”

“Lame. Where’s his sense of adventure?”

“That’s what I said!”

“I can hear both of you,” Piotr interjects as he drives away from Xavier’s. “And my sense of adventure is just fine.”

“I’m voting to drive as much of it straight as we can, and I packed some Red Bull without Piotr noticing—”

“What?”

“—so we should be seeing you in… two days? Three at the most?”

“Cool deal.”

“Oh, also, what’s your vote: Guns‘n’Roses or piano covers of retro pop music?”

“The fuck? The fuck sorta comparison is that?”

“I don’t know, it’s Piotr’s music collection!” you exclaim. “If you’ve got complaints, you can take it up with him when we get to your place.”

“Weird. Really fucking weird.” He sighs. “Guns‘n’Roses. Always Guns‘n’Roses.” He scoffs, muttering something about ‘new age piano cover garbage.’ “Text me with any updates.”

“Will do.” You hang up and carefully extricate the appropriate CD before inserting it into the car’s player.

“What’s wrong with my music tastes?” Piotr asks, smirking as he turns onto the highway.

You snort as the opening notes to ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ blare out through the speakers. “Nothing, technically. You’ve just got really broad tastes.”

He shrugs, grinning. “Makes sense. I am broad man, after all.”

You groan and laugh at the same time. “Wow. You’re such a dork.”

He clasps your hand in his and squeezes. “Yours.”

You smile and kiss the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

You take a nap at Piotr’s insistence after about the first hour of riding along, then take over for him around four in the morning. You hum along with the quiet music and nurse a can of Red Bull –two, actually, but you’re only copping to one if Piotr asks—while he snores in the passenger seat.

He wakes up around ten with an  _adorable_  snort, blinking blearily and running his fingers through his hair to try and smooth out the bedhead.

(He settles for putting on a baseball cap, in the end.)

The two of you stop off at diner across from a gas station to fuel up –and then fuel up after you’ve fueled up. Cinnamon rolls are on the menu, and you’re fuel-ing good.

(Sorry.)

 

* * *

 

You switch off after stopping again for lunch and to refuel. You lean the seat back about as far as it’ll go and stare up at the ceiling of the car, waiting for sleep to come.

Maybe mainlining two Red Bulls and three cups of coffee at the diner this morning had been a bad idea after all.

“I told you to lay back on caffeine,” Piotr murmurs as he reaches out to still your bouncing knee.

“Okay, you’re right almost ninety percent of the time already; you don’t have to point it out, too.”

He chuckles and pats your knee before putting his hand back on the steering wheel. “Your uncle lives on farm,  _da_?”

“Yeah –or his version of one, anyway.”

“But he is not farmer.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s more so he can live off the land as much as possible. Keep his footprint and costs of living down as much as possible.”

He nods slowly after a moment. “Wise move.”

You yawn, finally, and wriggle against the seat to get as comfortable as you can. “Guess that’s one way to define it.”

 

* * *

 

You take over in the early evening; you’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere, now, and since Piotr’s asleep and you’re unsupervised, you take it as a free pass to down Red Bull and speed as much as you dare.

Which works until you have to stop for gas again.

“How fast have you been going?” Piotr snaps when you slide back into the driver’s seat after paying for the refill. “Our progress is way off kilter.”

“I dunno,” you say in a blur. “Stopped processing numbers when I started hearing time pass.”

He finally notices the three extra empty cans of Red Bull in the footwell behind your seats and groans. “You are going to make yourself sick.”

“I feel great!”

“I bet.” He dumps the rest of your latest can –ignoring your squawks of protest—and replaces it with a water bottle before ripping open the wrapper on a protein bar and handing it to you. “Eat.”

“I’d rather have a burger,” you grumble, mood somewhat flagged by getting busted, as you start the car and peel out of the gas station parking lot. You shove half the snack in your mouth anyway, though.

“Slow down.”

You do for as long as you can remember to.

“Slow down.”

You do so again with a sigh when Piotr catches you speeding. “Are you gonna be like this for the rest of the trip?”

“If that’s what it takes for you to drive responsibly.”

“I knew I should’ve brought Wade instead.”

 

* * *

 

Piotr nudges you awake somewhere between the ass-crack of dawn and morning proper. “We’re here.”

You grunt and sit up with a jerk. “What?”

“Your uncle’s home. We’re here.”

You mind finally registers what he’s saying as your uncle’s house and property come into view. “And you told me off for speeding.”

Piotr ignores that in favor of parking the car behind a row of hedges –conveniently out of sight from anything in the area that might resemble a road—and turns the engine off as your uncle walks out onto the main porch.

“Good morning!” He lifts his cup of coffee in your direction. “Ready to start training?”

“Fuck no,” you call back. “I want a shower and a nap first.”

“So, training in two hours then.” He smirks when you groan and nods at the front door. “C’mon. I’ll show you where you two are staying.”

“I know the layout of the house,” you whine as you follow him inside.

“Yeah, but your  _boyfriend_  doesn’t and I am nothing if not the model of the perfect host.”

“You told me that you were gonna have him do chores.”

“Shush. No bursting my bubble.” He leads the two of you upstairs and to a room with a  _fucking massive, King sized bed_  in the center of it.

“Where’d you get that?” you ask.

“I keep it for my tall friends.”

You snort. “ _Friends_.”

“Ha ha, very funny. I’ll let you two get settled and rest up, and then it’s training time for you, punk.” He claps your shoulder, squeezes it, then slips past the two of you to head downstairs again.

Piotr looks after him, expression neutral saved for one raised eyebrow. “He’s… an experience.”

“You have no idea.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright. Basics of Moving Air One-Oh-One: Move the air molecules around you, not the ones in you.”

“Clear as mud, Captain.”

Your uncle smirks and gestures vaguely at the open space around him. “You have control over air molecules. It’s how your powers work. However, you need to be careful to move the molecules around you, not in you.” He taps at his throat. “That sonic scream you unleashed wasn’t accidental. You made the air molecules accelerate faster, which made a pressure wave. However, you directed the molecule acceleration at the air in your lungs, which put the strain on your larynx.”

You frown. “But… ‘sonic scream.’ Kind of implies that there’s gonna be strain on my larynx.”

Your uncle shakes his head. “Unless someone’s mutation directly relates to the strength of their larynx, anyone who screams while emitting shockwaves like that is doing it for dramatic effect. You don’t even have to open your mouth when you’re making shockwaves, technically, but I digress. Your mouth and larynx should only be used to give basic shape to the shockwaves. Everything else should come from the air  _around_ you.”

“Still not following.”

“Then watch and  _learn_.” He sets up a small ceramic pot on a nearby fence post, then takes a few paces back before motioning for you to come stand next to him. He puts your hand on his throat. “Alright. Feel how relaxed my throat is?”

You nod.

“Good. Keep your hand there—” he points to the pot “—and  _watch_.” He waits until you’re staring down the pot like it owes you money, then says “Boom.”

A shockwave slices across the distance between him and the fence posts and obliterates the pot.

You blink. “Wow.”

“Did you feel how relaxed my throat stayed?”

“Yeah. I thought you’d have to put more force behind it.”

He shakes his head. “You’re liable to hurt yourself if you try to match the force you want with your body. Just like how I had you stop flailing around when doing combat shit.”

“Hey! I did  _not_  flail!”

He chuckles and noogies your head affectionately. “Whatever you say, punk. Let’s get you practicing.”

 

* * *

 

When you finally walk back inside, your throat’s sore –but certainly in better shape than the mess it’d been in after the docks—and Piotr’s in the kitchen doing dishes.

“How is training going?” Piotr asks as he dries off his hands.

“She’s getting it. We’re gonna let her throat rest for a bit.” Your uncle flashes a thin smile at your boyfriend before ducking out of the kitchen and beating a quick retreat to the basement.

Piotr frowns after him. “Is he alright?”

“Hey, I warned you that he might be weird.” You gesture after your uncle vaguely before wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s waist and pressing a kiss against his back. “This is pretty par for the course, as far as  _he_  goes.”

Piotr shrugs, amicable and mostly unruffled, then turns around and wraps his arms around you. “Do you want something hot to drink? I found tea in cupboard earlier.”

You smile and nuzzle his chest as he kisses the top of your head. “That sounds great.”

 

* * *

 

Everything goes sideways at lunch.

“Wait, you’re what?”

You have to stop yourself from cowering, have to remind yourself that your uncle isn’t your father or your mother, that he isn’t going to smack you upside the head,  _but why does he sound so angry, all I said was—_  “I might quit the X-Men.”

Your uncle stares at you like you’ve sprouted a second head –which, given the X-gene mutation, could actually happen at some point. “What?”

Piotr’s hackles go up –he was already watching your uncle closely after the first outburst, but now he’s downright  _tense_ —and he draws attention to himself by standing up with just a bit more force than necessary and clearing his –now empty—lunch dishes noisily. “And I thought I was only non-native speaker here.”

His tone is pointed, sharp glass wrapped in just enough cotton to pass as conversational, and it makes his statement without him actually having to make it:  _You heard her. Let it go._

Your uncle eyes Piotr for a long moment, eyes more curious than pissed off, then shrugs and downs the rest of his glass of water. “Whatever.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright, remember: throat  _relaxed_. Don’t try to force anything. Let the air do the work for you.”

You contemplate making some sort of joke about deep throating, but decide against it because your uncle’s not Wade, and also because  _you’re_  not Wade. “Relaxed. Zen. Chill. Go with the flow.”

“Exac –hey! The fuck are you doing?”

The sudden aggression in his voice makes you jump, and it takes a second for you to realize that it’s not directed at you.

Piotr’s sitting on the back deck, sketchbook and pencil in hand, and looks equally confused as, but slightly less startled than, you. He stares at your uncle for a moment before glancing between the sketchpad and him. “Drawing.”

“No shit. What’re you drawing? Anything of the house or the landscape?”

And  _that_  actually makes Piotr roll his eyes, and it looks so adolescent and out of place on him that he almost seems unrecognizable for a moment. “ _Nyet_. I like to think I would know better.”

Your uncle sighs, deflates a little, and looks away. “Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you.”

You almost don’t hear it, he’s so quiet, and it leaves you mentally reeling.  _What’s he even talking about?_

After a moment of staring off into the distance and grinding his teeth, he glances back at your boyfriend. “Anything of me?”

Piotr gives him an annoyed look. “What did I just say about knowing better?” He nods at you. “I’m drawing her.”

That makes you grin, and you strike a goofy pose for him. “How do I look?”

Piotr laughs and adds a few quick lines to his page. “Very nice!”

“Yeah, yeah, you two are adorable and disgusting.” Your uncle grips you by your shoulders and angles you towards the row of ceramic pots awaiting destruction. “Focus. And stay relaxed.”

 

* * *

 

You should’ve known better than to think he’d actually drop it.

Your uncle ambushes you a couple days later while you’re out chopping wood.

(By the way, as you suspected, Piotr finds it endlessly amusing that you  _like_ splitting wood.)

“Alright. What’s this bullshit about you quitting the X-Men?”

You nearly jump out of your skin –you hadn’t heard him walk up behind you—and narrowly avoid embedding the ax in your foot. “Fuck! More warning next time! God!”

“Sorry, not sorry.” He folds his arms across his chest and frowns down at you. “Why are you thinking about quitting? Was that his idea?” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the house, presumably where Piotr is. “Is he trying to make you quit?”

You roll your eyes. “What? No. It’s all my idea.”

“See, I find that hard to believe—”

“Yeah, well, believe it. If I can’t get my episodes figured out, I pose a serious risk to my teammates, and that’s not something I’m happy to do. I killed two of the trafficking victims we were trying to save. I almost killed my whole team. Unless I can get things under control, I’m a liability.”

Your uncle shakes his head. “Anyone can be a liability. You know how often mutations go awry? Or out of control? You’re not the only one posing a risk!”

You glare at him. “I’m the only one that breaks from reality when I lose control, though. This wasn’t a case of accidentally making a tornado. I had an episode on the field, in the middle of a mission, and I’m not okay with subjecting my teammates to that kind of risk.”

His mouth twitches into a scowl. “You can’t just throw away your potential at this.”

You roll your eyes again and go back to chopping wood. “Yeah, whatever.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner, that night, is understandably tense.

Which isn’t to say the conversation isn’t flowing. Your uncle and Piotr are keeping things going pretty well, and you chime in on occasion –you actually make your uncle choke on his beer when you tell him about Wade calling the literal, actual Punisher ‘Spank Me Daddy’—but things still seem… stiff.

And maybe you’re just paranoid, or a little too sore from your argument with your uncle earlier, but something just doesn’t seem right—

“So, Piotr, how long have you been working with the X-Men?”

Wait a minute.

“Since I was nineteen.”

Hold the phone.

“Hm. That’s a while to get used to the rule book. Does it say anything about not letting people on the field because they’ve got anxiety?”

Yupp. This just in. You’re not paranoid.

You barely stop yourself from dropping your head face-first onto your dinner plate, but you do sigh like a person ten times your size. “Christ. Will you stop?”

Your uncle gives you a very unconvincing innocent look. “What? I’m just asking about how the X-Men build their teams.”

“This isn’t about my anxiety and you know it!”

He points at you. “Yeah, it is. You can’t let your fear of losing control keep you from taking the shots you need to make.”

“Are you  _shitting me_?” You stand up, knock your chair over in the process, and slam your hands down on the kitchen table hard enough to rattle the silverware. “Fuck. Off.” You storm upstairs without waiting for a response and into the room you and Piotr are sharing, slamming the door hard enough to have the windows shaking in their settings. You flop down on the bed with more force than strictly necessary and seethe at the ceiling. “‘Taking the shots I need to make my ass.’ I’ve almost bashed in Scott Summer’s head with a baseball bat fifteen times. I make my shots just fine.”

The door creaks open and Piotr peers in. “Are you alright?”

You sigh and rub your face with your hands. “Yeah. He’s just an ass sometimes. It’s how he expresses his concern.”

Your boyfriend sighs, but simply sits himself down next to you and scoops you into his lap. “We can go back to Institute, if you want. Tonight, even.”

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck and nestle against him. “No. I do need to master this ‘sonic scream’ technique so I don’t hurt myself in the future.”

He kisses your forehead gently, tenderly. “If you’re sure.”

You sigh, then nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

 

* * *

 

After being stuck inside for three days due to torrential downpour –honestly, where’s Ororo when you need her—you’re itching to get outside.

Not necessarily to train, or really do anything. More just… to get away from your uncle.

Things have just been… awkward since the argument at the dinner table. Your uncle’s barely talking to you –even less so to Piotr, and that’s saying something because he really wasn’t talking to your boyfriend at  _all_  before—and the whole house feels like it’s going to explode at any minute from the tension –which, given that you and your uncle can manipulate air to devastating effects, could actually happen.

That, and being stuck inside for the past three days has opened your eyes to a whole other weird phenomenon that’s being going on –apparently. Namely, that your uncle acts  _super weird_  around Piotr.

Which isn’t to say your uncle isn’t usually weird, but he’s extra… sour? Twitchy? Some undefinable combination of the two?

If he’s not making subtle comments to you about Piotr being controlling, or to Piotr about you being too anxious, he’s just… staring at Piotr. While grimacing in a way that’s almost… melancholy.

And you don’t know what to make of all of it. You barely even know how to handle it because there’s so much to unpack in the first place.

Piotr, to his credit, is being an absolute  _angel_  about it all. He simply takes everything in stride, helps out around the house and farm where he can, and sketches or reads when he’s not helping.

“I’m so sorry,” you’d murmur to him before pressing a kiss against his chest as you both laid in bed one night. “I had no idea he was being that difficult.”

He’d shrugged and kissed the top of your head. “It is no big deal. He is probably just worried about you and sees me as easy way to get stress out of his system.”

“Still. He doesn’t have to be an ass.”

He’d shrugged again and chuckled quietly. “Honestly, I prefer him to Wade. At least your uncle does not defile soap dispensers.”

Still, it pissed you off to no end. So, when you woke up that morning and saw that the skies were clear, you got dressed in record time and headed out to start training again.

You grind your teeth together as you line up a series of empty glass beer bottles on the fence you’ve training at.  _Fucking asshole. He says to bring Piotr, and then treats me and my boyfriend like shit._  You huff as you stomp a few meters away and whirl around the face the fence.  _I already have shitty parents. I don’t need another relative to throw into the mix_. You clench your hands into fists and glare down the bottles on the fence. “Boom.”

The entire fence section holding the bottles is obliterated into a pile of splinters, nails, and glass shards.

You stagger back, eyes wide. “Shit!”

Behind you, someone applauds –which is a dead giveaway it’s your uncle, because if it had been Piotr he’d already be by your side, making sure you’re okay. “Nicely done. Now I’ve got some proper chores for your boyfriend to do.”

You whirl around, then glance between your uncle and the fence. “Oops?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Not like I haven’t done shit like that before.”

And then the back door swings open and Piotr comes running out. “I heard an explosion. What happened?”

Your uncle points at you. “She just proved that families do improve generationally. How does your throat feel?”

You grin when it hits you. “Fine.”

Your uncle grins back. “Kept it relaxed, didn’t you? Only a little over a week and you’ve already got it down.” He gestures at the destruction you’ve caused. “See, that’s what I mean. You’re a fucking prodigy with this shit. Why would you want to waste all that by sitting on your ass and doing nothing?”

Just like that, your grin fades. You can feel the anger and frustration dredging up in you, and you feel tempted just to roll your eyes and ignore him.

And then, then you decide to set your shoulders and look your uncle in the eye. “You’re right. I’m good. I’ve got a lot of potential.”

“See—”

“And it’s  _mine_  to ‘waste’ if I so choose.” You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms over your chest. “It’s  _my_  life. I get to choose what  _I_  want to do with it. And I choose to make sure I can keep my friends safe on  _my_  terms. And if you don’t like that, then you can fuck off. I’ve already got an entire community that I left behind because they wouldn’t accept me for who I am, and I sure as shit don’t want you around if you’re gonna do the exact same to me.”

And there it is. Your chin is trembling, and your eyes are watery, and you’re pretty sure your voice cracked at least three different times, but you said it.

And your uncle looks shocked for a minute, then sad. “I don’t want to tell you what to do or how to live your life. I think you’ve got that all figured out really well.”

“But that’s what you’ve been doing.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then sighs and hangs his head. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I just… I worry about you, punk. Your parents beat you down to nothing, and I worry that you’re always gonna let other people and your fear walk over you and keep you down.”

You swallow hard and lift your chin. “I think I just did a pretty good job of standing up to both.”

He considers for a minute, then nods with a sad smile. “Yeah. You did. Ass-kicker.”

You smile back, then dart forward and wrap your arms around his middle.

He hugs you back and kisses the top of your head. “I’m sorry it had to be me you had to stand up to, instead of some chickenshit loser.”

“Why’d you say yourself twice?”

“Ha ha.” He squeezes you tighter for a brief second, then shoves you away. “Very funny. Just for that, you’re making breakfast.”

“I hope you like Poptarts.”

“Don’t have any; you’ll have to do real work.” He smirks, then nods at Piotr. “How are you at repairing fences?”

Piotr glances at the mess you made before replying to your uncle’s question with a shrug and a smirk of his own. “Pretty good.”

“Excellent. You can fix that next.”

You roll your eyes. “Leech.”

“Damn right. Go make breakfast.”

You groan good-naturedly and head back to the house.

 

* * *

 

Around two in the afternoon, you head out to the backyard with two mason jars of ice water.

Piotr’s been working for the better part of the day, clearing the destruction from your early morning training and rebuilding the fence. He’s almost done, has soaked his shirt with sweat, and as much as you like seeing him all sweaty and worked up, you don’t want him to get dehydrated.

He smiles when you hold out one of the jars to him. “ _Spasibo_.” He downs half of it, then leans against one of the newly laid posts and studies you. “How are you? From this morning, I mean.”

You exhale heavily and shrug. “Alright, I guess. It’s not the first time I’ve had to headbutt him on something. I’m just glad it worked out.”

Piotr nods after a moment before glancing at the house. “He cares about you very much.”

“I know. I care about him, too. He’s the only biological family I have that doesn’t completely hate me.”

Piotr downs the rest of his water, then hands his jar back to you with a shrug. “I would say that anyone who hates you for who you are is not really family.”

You smile at that. “Good point.”

“What’re you two talking about?” your uncle asks as he strides towards you across the back lawn.

“Family!” You cackle when he turns midstride and starts walking back towards the house. “Get your ass back here!”

He smirks as he joins the two of you and eyes Piotr’s handiwork. “Remind me to have you come over and do my chores more often.”

You swat his shoulder while Piotr snorts. “Asshole.”

“Runs in the family. You up for a break, Rasputin?”

Piotr shrugs. “I am almost finished, but I could stop for few minutes.”

“Excellent. I’ve got an exercise you can help us with.”

You outright flinch. “Wait, what? No. No, no, no—”

Your uncle grips your shoulders. “Relax. It’s not any of the sonic scream stuff. It’s completely safe for him to help us with.”

“Okay, but—”

“Punk. Look at me.” Your uncle looks you directly in the eyes. “I’m right here. I’m not going to let anything happen that would hurt him. I promise.”

You swallow hard, but nod anyway.

“Alright. You’re getting a good grip on the ‘sonic scream’ stuff. But what if I told you there was an inverse?”

“What’s that?”

Piotr frowns suddenly and points at the two of you. “Wait, can… can you read lips?”

You frown back. “What? Fuck no. He just said—”

“He didn’t ‘say’ anything. His mouth moved, but there was no sound.”

Your uncle chuckles as both of you have the realization at the same time. “Sound travels through the air in waves. Those waves vibrate the bones and tympanic membrane in our ear, which our brains translate as sounds, which it further translates into words or identifiable noises based on memories. But, if you hamper the movement of those air waves away from specific people, you can take away their ability to hear what you’re saying.”

Piotr points at your uncle. “He cut out halfway through… whatever he just said. He kept talking,  _da_?”

You nod and grin slowly. “So, basically, you can have an entire stealth conversation with someone and no one else will be able to hear you.”

“The applications stretch further than that, but you’re getting the basic concept.” He nods at Piotr. “We need him around to test how well you’re ‘blocking’ him out of the conversation. And, since I’m here too, nothing disastrous is gonna happen. Cool?”

You nod again, more enthusiastically this time. “Hella cool.”

 

* * *

 

You’re practicing the silent speaking technique a couple nights later while you all clean up from dinner –unlike the ‘sonic scream’ technique, the silent speaking one was safe to do in the house—when you practically get slapped in the face with a little bit of information you never knew.

“Okay, pause button,” your uncle says, motioning for you to stop practicing. “I’ve been meaning to ask –how did you almost die? During the mission where you damn near shredded your voice.”

You frown. “I… got shot. In the leg. I almost bled out from the wound.”

“Okay, but… how? I got the basic layout of things from Charles. You shouldn’t have had time to almost bleed out.”

You squint at him. “It’s… it’s a gunshot wound. I don’t think there’s a minimum time allotment on those things… or… whatever. You get what I’m saying.”

He stares at you for a minute, then pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “She didn’t tell you. She  _never_  told you.”

A wash of cold runs through you. “Told me what? What am I supposed to know?”

Your uncle sits down on one of the kitchen table chairs. “There are two types of X-gene mutations. The first are active mutations, the ones that are most obvious. For us, our family history, that’s our ability to manipulate air molecules. There are also latent mutations, less obvious ones that have less obvious impact on our lives. Maybe it’s somewhat above par vision and hearing or minor probability manipulation. For us, it’s… it’s kind of like a healing factor. We heal faster, but it’s also harder to hurt us in the first place. Our bones, bodies, skin, it’s all tougher. Stronger.”

You feel a little uneasy as a lot of stuff clicks into place. “So that’s why I’ve managed to bomb so many landings. Huh. Makes sense.”

Your uncle snorts. “What, you never put it together? Or wondered?”

“Not really. I was more thinking about ‘please don’t hit that wall’ or ‘ow that hurts.’” You swallow hard, and steel yourself to ask the question you already know the answer to. “Who… who was supposed to tell me about all of this?”

“I gave your mother a whole work up on our family history and mutation ancestry.” Your uncle scoffs. “I mean, I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you. She always tried to keep our heritage a big secret.”

You’re shaking. You can’t feel the wooden floor beneath your feet.

It’s not that you’re not surprised –you aren’t, really. Of course, your uncle tried to make sure you weren’t left in a lurch, only for your mother to put you in one anyway. Of course, she kept vital information about your body from you.

Alyssa’s terminology,  _‘forced dependency’_ , springs into your mind’s eye, and you’re just so…

Angry. Furious. Wrathful.

_Hurt_.

You’re vaguely aware that you’re hyperventilating, panicking as your body and mind try to process the sudden influx of conflicting emotions—

Your uncle grabs your shoulder. “We need to get her outside, she’s gonna—”

“ _Nyet_ ,” Piotr says softly. He gently pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around you. “She’s alright. Just give her minute.”

“Look—”

“I know what she looks like when she is having flashbacks. This is not it.” He kisses the top of your head. “Deep breaths. In through nose, out through mouth.”

You do as he tells you as best as you can, curling up into a ball while you try to coast through the whirlwind of feelings.  _It’s just a panic attack. Your mind’s just reacting a lot of emotional stimulus. It’s gonna be alright. It can’t hurt you_.

Piotr kisses your forehead and rubs soothing circles up and down your back as your breathing slows down. “ _Khorosho_. Very good.”

You draw in a shaky breath and let out a small sob. “My mom  _sucks_.”

The kitchen stays quiet, aside from your soft crying, until you finally come down from it all. You sit up properly –still in Piotr’s lap—and swipe at your face. “Who fucking does that to a kid?”

“Someone who was not meant to have children,” Piotr says gently as he kisses your temple.

You glance over at your uncle, if only to gauge his take on all of this, and almost laugh.

He looks so damn uncomfortable, like he’s ready to crawl out of his own skin. For all he’s good with facing down mob members and would-be assassins, he’s shit with emotional moments.

But he also looks pained, the same way he’s looked whenever he has to watch you and Piotr interact for too long.

It doesn’t make sense. He’s never showed any signs or said anything up to these past couple weeks that would make you think he doesn’t approve of Piotr or your relationship with him. He’s always been encouraging. Supportive. A damn close to thrilled as he gets.

But now, now he just looks mournful. Melancholy. Like a kid that’s looking at a bag of candy he can’t touch because it’s not for him.

And it doesn’t make sense.

Your uncle clears his throat before you can start interrogating him. “Look, I’m not a therapist or anything—” he jerks his head at the freezer “—but I find that ice cream cures just about any emotional ailment.”

You chuckle and nod. “Ice cream sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

Everything finishes coming to a head the literal night before you and Piotr are supposed to leave.

(Because drama. And narrative choices.)

You’re all eating dinner in the kitchen, and it’s going markedly well. Piotr and your uncle are actually having civil conversation and  _smiling_  at each other –a miracle that lands squarely on your uncle’s shoulders and willingness to act like an actual human, since Piotr is housebroken and has an impeccable set of manners.

And then Piotr mentions something about the farm he grew up on, and it all goes to shit.

(Not because of Piotr mentioning it, but because of how your uncle  _reacts_  to it.)

He makes an expression that lands somewhere between a grimace and a pained smile and says “Alex always said she wanted one of those. Leave to that woman to get what she wants.”

Piotr goes ramrod straight, actually  _drops_  the fork in his hand, and asks, shocked, “How do you know my mother’s name?”

Your uncle grimaces and stands so abruptly he knocks his chair over. “You look just like Nick, y’know.”

Piotr’s mouth falls open as your uncle runs out the back door.

You chase after him, tossing a “I’ve got him” over your shoulder in hopes that it’ll keep Piotr from running after your uncle –not that he doesn’t deserve some answers after  _whatever the fuck that was_ , but only one of you can actually fly if your uncle really feels like literally running away from his problems.

But he doesn’t.

Hasn’t.

Whatever.

He’s just sitting in the yard space next to the deck steps, arms wrapped around his legs and forehead braced against his knees.

There’s something awfully disquieting about seeing a full-grown adult and renowned assassin using  _your_  coping mechanisms for dealing with life.

You sit down on the grass in front of him, a little lost at sea for what do or say. “What was that? How do you know Piotr’s mom?”

You uncle lets out a shaky breath and stares up at the cloudy sky. “Ran a mission or two with her. Collusion, etcetera.”

And that explains knowing her name, and maybe Nikolai’s depending when he came into the picture and all that, but that doesn’t explain your uncle’s weird behavior or the look of pain on his face when he mentioned Alexandra or—

“Holy shit you were in love with her,” you breathe as it hits you all at once. “You’re  _still_  in love with her,” you amend when your uncle grimaces again.

His eyes are glassy when he finally looks at you. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted. And I’m happy that Nick can, but looking at your guy is every reminder of what I never had.”

You stare at him, mouth hanging open –and smack him on the shoulder. “Holy fuck, pull  _your head out of your ass_! I’m sorry you loved and lost, but that’s not Piotr’s fault and he sure as  _shit_  doesn’t deserve all the crap you’ve been dishing him while we’ve been here! You’ve been acting like a thirteen-year old girl that got her spring fling date stolen from her!”

Your uncle lets out a broken laugh and grins, actually grins. “Yeah, yeah. Leave it you to bust my balls.”

“Look, I don’t wanna be mean—”

“No, no, you’re right.” He sighs. “Just sucks, is all.”

 

* * *

 

Things are better by morning. You walk out onto the front porch, bag packed and ready to go, and find Piotr and your uncle talking things out.

Your uncle, true to form, clams up as soon as you step within earshot, but Piotr doesn’t seem too traumatized, which means that things should’ve gone mostly alright.

Your uncle pulls you into a crushing hug as Piotr takes your bag and carries it out to the car. “We good, punk?”

“Did you work things out with Piotr?”

“Yeah. We got it worked out.”

“Then we’re good.”

He smiles down at you, somewhat pained, and pats you on the shoulder when Piotr slams the trunk of the car shut. “Go on. Head home. Kick ass –however you choose to do it.”

You smile, and almost jump off the porch in one fell swoop, but stop when a random thought bursts into your mind’s eye.

_He’s all alone out here_.

You look over your shoulder at your uncle. “You should come visit sometime. You need to meet Wade, anyway.”

Your uncle looks surprised, but not displeased. “I’ll have to see what work with my schedule.”

You nod. “Cool.”

And then you do hop off the porch and dive into the driver’s seat of the car before Piotr can relegate you to the passenger seat for the time dealing. You peel away before Piotr can buckle his seatbelt –mostly to get a mild rise out of him—and honk the horn at your uncle before you drive out of sight.

 

* * *

 

“Well, well, well! Look who’s back after finally learning how to scream properly!”

You can’t help but grin as Wade bounds towards Piotr’s –still moving—car. “ _Hola_!”

“ _Donde esta la biblioteca_!”

Piotr sighs as he parks his car and turns off the engine. “Why is he here?”

“I let him know we were coming back; he said he wanted to see me when I came back. Something about making sure I didn’t get replaced with a… Skrull imposter?”

“He got shot in the head a couple times during our last mission,” Nate adds, trailing after Wade.

“That would do it,” Piotr mutters as he picks up yours and his luggage.

“So, how do you feel now that you’re an official Screamer?” Wade asks, slinging an arm around your shoulders as the four of you walk towards the house.

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Knock it off. We did more than working on the screaming thing.”

Wade lifts a hand to his mouth. “Gasp! Tell. Me. Everything!”

“Okay, you’ve seen her.” Ellie’s standing at the back door with Yukio, Neena, and Russell. She plants her hand on the middle of Wade’s forehead to keep him from moving forward. “You can go now.”

“No one asked for your timeline, Negasonic Party Pooper. Hi, Yukio!”

“Hi, Wade!”

“How’d everything go?” Russell asks as you and Piotr step inside.

“Pretty well,” you say, opting to gloss over all the family drama for the time being. “I manage to learn how to do a ‘sonic scream’ without destroying my throat –oh, and I learned another cool trick, too.” You smile when everyone prods you to tell all and face your group of friends. “Alright, so everyone gets how sounds are really just waves of air that hit our tympanic membrane and the bones in our ears, right?”

“This is news to me,” Wade blurts. “I always thought the magical fairies in our brains did all that shit.”

You snort as Piotr admonishes Wade for his language and shake your head. “Well, newsflash, that’s not how it works.” You take a minute to pick a target and settle on Ellie. “Essentially,” you say, making sure you control the airflow of the room to make it so only she can hear you. “I can pick and choose who hears me by preventing the soundwaves from travelling to everyone else.”

“Okay, what’s with the lip-syncing for your life?” Wade asks, legitimately frowning. “Is this a prank? Because I dropped the cow-play stuff at least twenty fics ago –not that we know what that means as far as an actual timeline goes, since the author can’t be assed to do things linearly.”

“She’s not lip-syncing, idiot,” Ellie says. “She was actually talking. I could hear her.”

“And I thought  _I_  was the crazy one.”

Yukio grins at you. “You just did it! That’s so cool!”

“That could be seriously useful for stealth operations,” Nathan remarks; if he notices Piotr’s flinch at his comment, he ignores it.

“Or for asking questions during movies,” Yukio adds.

You smile and shrug. “The possibilities are pretty endless, from what I’ve been told.” You stretch your back as everyone goes about doing their own thing; it’s good to be back home, back with your friends and found family.

You’re still not sure what the future will hold, as far as your possible career as an X-Man goes. But, uncertainties aside, you do know that this is the safest place for you to figure out whatever your future might look like.

As far as the present goes, though…

You take a moment to get focused, then look over at Piotr –who’s halfway across the room from you right now, which is going to make this all the better—and announce, “Babe, I really wanna suck your dick right now.”

His face turns bright pink as he gives you a shocked look, and he opens his mouth to admonish you –before he stops and realizes that literally  _no one else_  has reacted, not even Wade. He narrows his eyes at you when you wink at him, then shakes his head and walks out of the room.

You giggle to yourself.  _Endless possibilities indeed_.

And then you head out after him.

Because even though you’d been joking, you hadn’t been kidding.

**Author's Note:**

> So, on the issue of potential:
> 
> Whatever potential people perceive in you is still yours. No matter how much of it you may have, it's still your choice to do with it as you please --even if that choice is to do nothing with it at all.
> 
> And, yeah, there's stuff to be said for listening to the wisdom of your elders and not letting fear limit you, but you're still in charge. Don't do stuff --or not do stuff--just because people think that one choice or another would be a 'waste' of your potential.
> 
> And if they don't like your choice, fuck 'em.
> 
> Yeah. I wish I'd known some of that when I was younger. So go fort.h and use it, my dears.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> The Author.


End file.
